


All your perfect imperfections

by StormXPadme



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Fisting, Hithlum, I have No Excuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Maedhros's stump, Oral Sex, PWP, Russingon, Stump sex, only not really, stump fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24521986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Findekáno has a fetish. Maitimo helps.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	All your perfect imperfections

**Author's Note:**

> Created out of a tumblr meme of dialogue writing prompts; prompt: “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“I have _not_.”

Findekáno blushes which would be adorable any other day. When they’re in bed together, after two decades of seeing each other only in their dreams and talking only by letter or their marriage bond, it’s downright sexy.

“No?” Maitimo pushes his marred arm between his husband’s bare legs, lifting Findekáno’s thigh around his hips to have better access to his opening, slightly swollen and slick to the slow rub of his too-soon ending arm between Findekáno’s firm cheeks.  
“Is that why you prepared yourself for me so thoroughly?”

He’s not even joking; the toy he’s just carefully slipped out of his lover’s perfect round behind is a lot bigger than what they usually play with. Frankly, Maitimo is impressed, his lover made it through the whole greeting ceremony of his host in the throne room without breaking a sweat.

Findekáno clutches his shoulder, his other hand buried in Maitimo’s messy braids as he tries his best _not_ to move against the teasing touch.

“I don’t know, maybe because you haven’t fucked me for approximately 175207 hours?”

“175206. Before I left last time, you fucked me in the stables, remember?“

“You’re not helping.” 

Findekáno tries to bribe him by pampering the side of his neck and his ear with little kisses and licks. More than one desperate moan vibrates against Maitimo’s skin, as he keeps up the slow, firm caress, unimpressed. Nothing else for now, just that stroking in small circles of his lover’s waiting hole with the bluntness of his stump, occassionally interrupted by cautious pressure against Findekáno‘s too full, too heavy balls or the sensitive place in between, ever until his husband groans once more in frustration and thrusts his hips down, chasing that touch he claims to not want.

“ _Valar_ , Maitimo, will you kindly get your cock in my ass?”

Findekáno tries to get his own hand between their bodies, to persuade him another way, but the angle is too bad, and Findekáno’s so much smaller body stands no chance against Maitimo’s good arm keeping him against his chest.

“Sure _that_ is what you want inside?”

Maitimo nips on his lower lip, coaxes his tongue into his lover’s mouth, tasting desire, a rest of wine and pleasantly, sweetly, Findekáno. He shifts the angle, heightens the pressure against his lover’s perineum, knowing, Findekáno must be feeling the roughness of scars he cut onto Maitimo himself on that cliff back then, every smoothed out ridge and curve at where his shattered bones have been sewn and polished into a clean shape, after what the healers called Findekáno’s butchery when he wasn’t in the room.

Maitimo remembers not much from that time. He’s been too busy not dying back then. Also with trying to understand that he’d been actually freed after decades of torture - physical, mental, sexual, whatever the Dark Lord had felt like most at any given time -, with no light of hope on the horizon. Communication with the outside was sparse at that time.

But he remembers very well that he wanted to slap that stupid scoff of the healers’ faces if he’d only had the strength. After years of hanging from a cliff, waiting for nothing but death, the last thing he felt like complaining about was his husband cutting his hand off to get him out of there. Besides, the rest of his body is fucked up enough, still, even after all this time, in appearance as well as in at least two joint afflictions he’ll probably never get rid off. He really couldn’t care less about how what is left of his right arm looks like.

He’s _alive_ ; he can keep on fighting, protecting, taking revenge for all the wrongs bestowed on his family, and he can love his husband every day they’ve been granted new. His missing hand, inconvenient as that often is, to him, has always been a symbol for that restart.

It’s taken Findekáno a few years to cope with his responsibility the same way, but by the time they started properly sleeping with each other again, once Maitimo decided he’d had enough of letting the aftermath of his ordeal ruin every closeness he’d once shared with his husband, Findekáno came around too. He has no fear of contact anymore, and they figured out how to rearrange all the positions they used to enjoy so much without the additional strength and balance of a fourth hand involved.

And Maitimo needed exactly an hour back then to convince his lover, a well-trained mouth and one set of fingers is enough to drive him crazy.  
That’s not it.

It’s Findekáno’s own growing interest of incorporating Maitimo’s other, usually more impassive arm into their games, that he feels uncomfortable about. Maitimo just about _had_ it with the unambiguous pictures he can see in their bond when his lover loses control of his mental shields and then being cockblocked - well arm-blocked - every single time he asks.

“I don’t …” 

Findekáno yelps when Maitimo suddenly throws him on his back to kneel between his legs, dark, wide-open eyes meeting his as Maitimo starts stroking Findekáno’s rock-hard erection with the half-length of his lower arm, just enough to have him writhe and curse before the stump slips back between his oil-glistening cheeks.

“It’s just a stupid _fantasy_ ,” he finally growls when Maitimo pauses once more, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s ridiculous, it’s completely inappropriate, it’s … I have _maimed_ you, it’s _my_ fault you lost that arm. I’m not making that a fetish, thank you very much. Can we go on then or do I need to beg you first?”

He would, Maitimo knows, and not too unhappily. For a Prince, Findekáno has an astonishing deep-running submissive streak, and Maitimo feels better being in control since Angband. In that regard, he’s been always grateful for his lover’s insightfullness and empathy.

In others, Findekáno sometimes needs a metaphorical - or not so metaphorical - whipping to get something in his head.

“Who said anything about your fetish? Did it ever enter your mind, it might be mine?”

Findekáno stills and stares. His cock under Maitimo’s enquireing fingertips twitches, and when Maitimo takes mercy on him and takes him in in one smooth motion, he comes down his throat with a yell.

“I take that as a ‘Yes, please’.” With a satisfied hum, Maitimo licks the last of tangy white off his lips and leaves a firm slap on Findekáno’s behind before he gets up to find some more oil.

He’s maybe not been completely accurate, because Findekáno can be a stubborn asshole when it comes to his own wishes and desires: No, the thought of fucking his lover with his stump hasn’t ever crossed his mind before he saw it in Findekáno’s.

But what he _does_ like is seeing Findekáno completely wrecked with lust, preferably impaled deep and wide on some phallic object, the bigger the better. It’s what his high-strung, always so controlled and composed lover needs to unwind from time to time, especially since he’s taken on more regal duties, and Maitimo is only too happy to deliver.

He starts slowly though, because Findekáno is still highly sensitive from his first orgasm, startling when he oils his still stretched opening new and then coats his arm deliberately in the smooth, thick fluid. But Maitimo finds, he needn't have worried. 

Findekáno’s long, pretty cock is already very interested again when Maitimo breaches him for the first time, his hands clench into the pillow under his head, uncontrolled. He groans in frustration, his dark skin heated and shiny with continuous desire, as Maitimo stops to gently circle the first inch or two of flesh inside of him, getting them both used to the strange sensation. He tries to push down and _growls_ when Maitimo wraps his free arm around his thigh, holding him firmly in place.

“ _More_ …”

Maitimo is nice enough to not mention how much his lover refused to even be in on this about 10 minutes ago. Instead, he gets his lips on his hardening cock again, the tip of his tongue softly pressed against the underside, that one spot he knows his lover to be especially sensitive at, and when Findekáno keens and thrusts upwards, he does the same.

Findekáno gasps and shakes, his head tilted back widely, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s in bliss, enjoying himself enough to be patient now, to work with Maitimo’s slow, gentle conquering instead of throwing himself on him.

By the time, Maitimo is elbow-deep in him, the half-numb, scarred-over end of his arm lodged against _that_ spot, Findekáno is cursing in two languages at once, torn between desperately pressing against that pointed, deliberate touch on his inside and Maitimo’s sucking mouth, one of his hands buried in Maitimo’s hair so hard, it hurts, and it’s perfect.

“ _Please_ …”

It’s that one small word, not uttered too often between them in bed, that almost has Maitimo come on the spot himself, his hips rutting mindlessly into the mattress, his head pressed right against his lover’s lower belly, first drops of new lust dripping down his willing throat. He somehow makes it to pull back once more in spite of himself, because he wants to _watch_.

Straightening up enough to give Findekáno room to move, he grabs himself with a rough moan, his arm staying right where it is, buried deeply in his lover’s shaking body.

“Ride me. Make yourself come on me.”

Findekáno whimpers and reaches down blindly, gets a hold of his thigh, nails digging into Maitimo’s thin skin as he starts to thrust his hips down immediately, in the rhythm he needs to work himself gradually, arduously so shortly after coming once already, to a second orgasm, his cock throbbing and straining untouched, his lips swollen from the bite of his own teeth, a gold-wired braid between them that he forgets to blow away.

For some reason, it’s that last detail that pushes Maitimo over the edge. He comes in hot spurs over Findekáno’s belly and cock, his seed mixing with his lover’s when he angles his arm once more just right, drumming his lover’s prostate in the rhythm of Findekáno’s thrusts, until Findekáno is spent, quiet screams turning to exhausted panting.

Until Maitimo is finished cleaning Findekáno very thoroughly up with his tongue, he’s also finished pulling out of him, as carefully as he’s taken him, and looks down on the mess they made with a little grimace.  
“I did hear you say something about a bath earlier, right?”

“Not happening unless you carry me there,” Findekáno murmurs into his own elbow and then shrieks as Maitimo picks him up unceremoniously to carry him next door. He really should know better by now.

Nestling closely against his neck, with a comfortable sigh, he chuckles. “Just so we’re clear, tomorrow we’re doing _your_ kink.”


End file.
